The First Time It Happened
by Direa
Summary: It wasn’t how he’d pictured it would be. SamJack, Angsty. You've been warned.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions.

Not beta'd, so sorry if I missed something.

Feedback highly appreciated.

* * *

The first time it happened, they were both drunk. 

Her on grief, him on Jack Daniels. Not that thats any excuse, for either of them.

It wasn't how he'd pictured their first time would be. There should have been candles, maybe wine. A letter of resignation, perhaps. A bed, in the least.

Instead there was the hard, unforgiving floor of his hallway that had wreaked havoc on his knees. Most of his clothes had stayed on, too, but since it didn't bother her it shouldn't have bothered him any. It wasn't very thought-out, on either of their parts.

All that had mattered was that for all intents and purposes, Daniel was dead. She had needed to talk to someone. Correction, she had needed to talk to him. Needed to talk about it. He had needed her to just shut the hell up.

When he opened the door to the incessant ringing that afternoon, he wasn't sure if he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay or to ask her to leave the property. He had compromised.

"Can I help you, Major?" He had asked. Oh, such a loaded question, but his harsh tone had implied the words were pure formality.

She didn't say anything for a moment, and he wasn't sure if it was what he said or what she saw that made her pause. He hadn't slept in a while, hadn't shaved in much longer, and had happily started crawling his way down a bottle that he kept around for just these kinds of occasions. His hair uncombed, face gruff, eyes red and posture defeated, Jack O'Neill still kept managed to be cold and formal with his hand on the knob, blocking the entrance to his house.

"Can I come in?" She asked quietly, teeth worrying her top lip as she briefly met his eyes and dropped them down again.

He raised himself up to his full height, defenses automatically raising against this new threat. Why bother drinking if she was only going to remind him?

"Look, I have no--"

"Please?" It was the pleading in her voice that did it, and the fact that she left the obligatory 'sir' out. Still, he had to try.

"What do you want, Carter?" He sounded hard and impatient even as he turned and walked back towards his couch and his whiskey, letting the door open wider behind him.

She followed him in, closing the door behind herself with a soft click. Her footsteps made soft thuds as they echoed his down the hall, quiet and deliberate and he knew she was as tense as he would have been if he was sober. But he wasn't and he needed to work on keeping it that way.

Jack let himself down on the edge of the couch, reaching for the bottle and the glass next to it. He was working his way up to drinking straight from the bottle. But while he still had the capacity to pour straight, he damn well would.

Placing the bottle back on the table, he lifted his eyes to hers as he reached for the glass.

"What do you want, Carter." The annoyed emphasis on the word and the pause before her name made Sam wince.

"I just wanted to... I came here so we could... I, uh, I need..."

She broke of on a loud, frustrated breath, both hands running through her hair and then rubbing her face in defeat.

'See how you were doing'? 'Talk'? 'Not be alone right now'? She had sat in the car for an hour and now all the words seemed ridiculous when talking to the one man who would understand if he just cared enough to listen. She met his eyes and quickly looked away, starting to pace, trying to get the words past the bitter lump in her throat.

It was almost funny that suddenly she nothing to say. She had thought if she could just see him, get him alone and in private where they could talk about this, that they could fix this.

No, not fix it. But make it better. Make it as bearable as losing a brother and best friend could ever be. She had been so sure he would understand, because she knew he felt it too. Felt the deep, gaping hole that was slowly bleeding all her dry, the cold that threatened to overpower her as her body shook and trembled even under piles of blankets.

"Major, if you don't mind, I was in the middle of something important here." He said when she didn't say anything for a few long seconds and stood up again, hand gesturing to the whiskey and then towards the front door.

Sam stopped, facing him full on and met his guarded, shuttered eyes. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her torso and her eyes were blue and wet and vulnerable and oh so threatening to him.

"Colonel, please." It was that soft pleading again, the sounds torn painfully from her throat.

He broke the eye contact and walked away, back to the door. She felt the unspoken dismissal physically, a harsh slap to her face. In the pit of her stomach it felt something like pain or nausea or both, twisting her insides.

Jack was waiting by the door, gripping the door knob painfully, knuckles white from the effort when she finally followed. But she stopped just 6 feet short of him, mouth opening then closing again, eyes looking away helplessly. So open and vulnerable and _there_. And he couldn't stand it.

"What, Carter, please _what_!" He hadn't meant to yell it, but he did and now she was looking at him again with those huge doe-like eyes of hers.

And then he had moved towards her, aggressively and with clear intent but she didn't move away. The hand that moved to grab her hair was only slightly less harsh than the one that pulled her against him, digging into the flesh in her back. He crushed her to him fully, lips bruising as they forced hers apart, pushing her head back and into his own.

She wasn't fighting him. In fact, she was all but clawing at his back, desperately trying to get even closer. The hands roving his back and arms and neck were greedy, pulling him in to her, afraid if they didn't he might fall away. She barely noticed the wall at her back.

And then they were sliding down to the floor, and her skirt was around her waist, his pants around his hips, as were her legs. And then he was shifting, his weight heavy and reassuring on hers. This wasn't how he'd pictured their first time, but if this was all he was going to get he'd take it. Just then she was warm and willing and so damn safe around him, her breath hot and wet on his ear as she half sobbed and half moaned his rank. It was frantic and urgent and finished all too fast as she shook almost imperceptibly around him, arms and legs and teeth clenching down hard as he finished, panting and boneless on top of her.

He had rolled off of her then and separated, no small feat in the confines of the narrow hallway, adjusting his clothing and catching his breath.

Well, at least he had tried to prevent this.

Just like afterwards, he had tried not to look at her until it was just her back, already decent and walking out of his house.

"Sam..." But she wasn't within hearing distance anymore when he got the word out. The only reason he got up that soon after she left was because he couldn't reach the whiskey from there.

And in the next few days, when they saw each other at work, he was glad he still had that bottle for just these kinds of occasions.

* * *

He's not surprised anymore when she shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Usually, he can see it coming half way into the day. If everything goes well on a mission, his only company for the night is a game and a box of pizza. If someone dies, he leaves his front door unlocked. 

The first time she came back she didn't say anything, just kept standing on the other side of the doorway even long after he invited her in. It took a long-suffering, deeply meaningful "Carter..." and a gently tugging hand on her wrist to get her through the door. After that, she had had no more problems making up her mind if they should really be doing this because he did it for her. Took her by her almost trembling hand and led her into the bedroom, then stood in front of her and waited. It didn't take her 2 seconds to grab onto him, desperately trying to force her way down his throat and hide inside him. She was the one that had started crying even as she pushed him unto his back on the bed and latched to his warm body like a life preserver.

If she thought about it deeply, she'd probably realize that was why she came to him in the first place, because he would take over when she needed him to. Not push. Never push. He could pull her enough, and then let go to let her take that final step. Its the inertia of his actions that keeps her moving towards him. Bodies in motion will stay in motion is what Sam had thought at the time, even as they had made their way out of their clothes.

Still, Sam had decided a long time ago that thinking deeply about this just wasn't a very good idea.

So usually its Jack that pulls her against him, his frequently battered and aching arms holding her tightly as she either sobs or grinds her hips against him. And its always one of the two, because she doesn't come over unless its really bad. Either he had almost died that day or someone else did. Well, that's how it started out, anyway.

Most of the time, she doesn't stay the night. On a few rare occasions she was too tired to move away from the body lying spent next to her, and he was grateful that she wasn't able to see just how much the whole thing exhausted him emotionally. Not that he would ever object to the visits– on the contrary, he morbidly looked forward to the next time the world would almost end or Teal'c would almost die. Because then she would spend the night with him, and that almost made up for how much he hated himself for thinking those thoughts. But if this was all he was going to get, it was more than enough compensation for risking his life for this ungrateful planet, and he would take it willingly.

When she does leave, she tries not to look at him too much. She gets out of bed, careful to keep her eyes averted as she visits the bathroom or goes immediately in search of her wayward clothes. And then she leaves, closing the door behind her.

All the while, Jack stays in bed, thanking God that the pretty blue marble they live on is still in one piece and so is the woman stealthily making her escape from his house. Every once and again a piece of clothing becomes a casualty of the mad race to have skin on skin contact and she leaves without it. Neither of them mentions it the next time they see each other but Jack's started a drawer.

Another thing is, they almost never talk when this happens. Sometimes, when its really bad, usually when someone close does die, he asks her if she's ok. And she tells him no, then lies and tells him she'll be fine.

The only time they're "fine" is either when the two of them are together like this or the three of them plus Jonas are eating pie in the commissary, weeks since the last time just the two of them had been "fine".

At the base its almost always ok. If she had been over any time in the last week or so, then things are strained between them. But thats ok, because it always, always, correlates to some narrowly averted disaster-- no one thinks much of it. And Jack is painfully aware that that is the only reason that brings her to his door at 3 am on a Wednesday morning. No one suspects anything out of the ordinary. But the two of them know better.

A week or two after the deed its almost completely back to normal. He jokes and she makes eye contact and smiles, but soon looks away. He only touches her briefly, if at all. It's almost like they're being too careful, too aware of what they've done wrong. A few more days and she starts to laugh again. His hand lingers on the small of her back after he holds the door and leads her to the team's table for lunch. Off world its always pure professionalism and that is the only reason she allows this to happen. Because everything always goes back to normal.

And then he does something stupid like get himself captured by Ba'al, and all the sudden things aren't ok again. That time she's at his house almost every night for two weeks straight, playing the concerned second in command. Instead of sex she orders take-out and sits next to him on the couch while they watch Vancouver obliterate the Avalanche and he knows she doesn't even like hockey. She cleans up before getting into bed with him, wearing some borrowed clothes. They only have sex twice, and both times Jack wonders if Daniel is watching.

TBC  



	2. Chapter 2

After Fifth, she doesn't look him in the eyes when they're both naked and panting and he's turning her body to liquid fire beneath his talented hands. 

Jack wants to be gentle and go slow, wants to make her understand but she's angry and hurt and wants nothing of the kind. He can't stop himself from squeezing her breast harder than he wants to and thrusting in that much deeper after she digs her nails into his back and spits a harsh "Fuck you, Jack O'Neill" into his ear. Later, she's arching off the bed and screaming obscenities at whatever deity that's listening.

She doesn't leave afterwards, but she doesn't look at him either. Jack watches as his subordinate gets out of his bed, goes into his bathroom and, from the sounds from the other side of the locked bathroom, takes a long shower.

He doesn't wait around for her to finish. Instead, he goes to his fridge, takes out a beer and goes out back to let her escape in solitude.

When he comes back into his living room half an hour later, chilled both inside and out, Jack almost jumps to find her sitting on his couch in the dark, bare legs and arms crossed where the towel is not covering. He can just make out that her hair is almost dry and sticking up.

This is new and he's not sure what to do. For a minute he just stands still, looking around for reinforcement forces to muster strength but the bottle is nowhere in sight.

"Something wrong?" He asks. He tried to go for nonchalance but ends up in apprehensive territory. It makes him wince.

She snorts but doesn't respond. She still hasn't looked at him.

He tries a different approach then. Much more risky.

"Look, its late. Why don't you come to bed?" Jack's tone is less wary and softer than before.

He's moving slowly towards her, carefully approaching her defensive position on the couch. He's letting his own defenses down for this.

Its when he's almost in range that she explodes. "Oh, because that just fucking solves everything, huh, sir?"

Suddenly Sam Carter is on her feet and facing him in all her livid glory. She's caught him unprepared and he's speechless.

"You do something like _that_ and everything's supposed to be ok after a quick screw and a few hours of sleep, is that it? Sir?" She practically spits the word out and he's reminded of just why it is that he has red welts all across his back. He didn't expect her to be happy with his orders, but he wasn't expecting this, either.

"Sam, that's not what I meant." Even in the dark he could see the fire jumping in her eyes at his use of her name, but she says nothing.

"Look, what do you want me to say!" Because he sure as hell doesn't have to explain himself to her. And he shouldn't even need to by this point. She knows him well enough.

She doesn't answer his heated question, just gives a short, bitter bark of laughter and shakes her head.

"Tell me," She starts, her eyes narrowed and accusing. "Did you pull this shit with Sara, too?"

The muscle in Jack's jaw clenches in response and in protest of the direction in which he knows she's headed.

"Carter..." There's a warning there and he unconsciously shifts his body with the tension. She either doesn't hear it or doesn't care.

"You ever think that maybe that's why it didn't work out between you two after Charlie died?"

"That's enough, Major!" He yells. He really needs her to shut the hell up right now.

Jack's fists clenched as she spoke and just now he's barely controlling himself from taking those few steps towards her.

This is not a topic up for discussion, ever. Not even for her. Especially not her.

She's still glaring at him with so much heat, but something subtle in her eyes changes as she takes in his rigid body, calculating. He doesn't catch it.

Sam knows this is dangerous territory but had decided to risk it anyway. There is always the possibility that she's misjudged him and he won't react the way she's expecting him to. He might shut down, as she's seen him do on these occasions before. There's always that. Still...

"Oh, just because you say it is? Or is that an order? Sir!" Her tone is openly confrontational and she's walked right up to him. Close enough to see his twitching jaw and white knuckles, fingernails digging angry marks into his palms. She thinks she hears him growl. At this point, there is always the threat that he might hit her, too. She waits with bated breath.

"Get out." The words are pure malice as he whispers harshly, eyes fixed on some point behind her head.

They shock Sam. No, this isn't what she wanted. Not at all... Shit. The chill that sweeps her body is instantaneous.

"Colonel..." She starts backtracking, but he cuts her off.

"Get out of my house. Now." Its cold and its final and it makes her panic.

Sam's miscalculated. For every action there's an equal and opposite reaction, but something's gone wrong in the equation this time. She pushed him and he was supposed to push back. He's supposed to be yelling and angry and volatile. Not this. This deadly silence and stillness only acts as a foil for the fury rolling in waves off his taut body and, Sam's hoping, ready to crash upon her. Now it's a question of too far or not far enough and she hesitates. Takes a breath. Takes a big chance.

"I'm not going anywhere until– " She gasps at the feel of fingers digging mercilessly into her forearms as he jerks her against him violently. A second later their mouths, all lips and teeth and anger, clash together.

His body is wound so tight she thinks he might really do some damage here if he explodes and she delights in the fact that its all her doing. If before he was the calm before the storm, just now she can see the first big waves swelling off the port side.

And she's there to meet him. Her grip on his hair is almost vise-like but it only encourages him to rip the towel from her body and harshly palm her chest. She moans into his mouth.

They stumble, only stopping once during their frenzied trip to the bedroom and that's when he slams her naked back against a wall and roughly pushes a long, deft finger inside her. The shoulder that she's sinking her teeth into muffles her cry as she pushes off the wall to get him closer.

They make it to the bedroom and he shoves her to the bed, releasing her only long enough to divest of his own clothing. By the time he does she's standing on the bed on her knees and pulling him down on top of her, his worn, scarred body pushing her perfectly sculpted one onto her back, hands roaming all over her body. One rough hand finds a breast and squeezes, a hard nipple caught between two fingers as he grinds his thigh into the apex of her legs mercilessly.

Sam has his bottom lip between her teeth and bites hard as he thrusts against her unexpectedly, too much sensation for the delicate area. Every nerve ending in her body is screaming and the metallic taste delicately flooding her mouth makes the situation all the more desperate. He pulls away from her when the skin breaks, body acting on instinct to this new attack. He retaliates.

She finds herself on her knees facing away from him, elbows holding her body up even as she arches against him. The anticipation has been building ever since he walked back into his house and she's more than ready for it when he slams fully inside her. Still, she can't control the loud hiss that escapes her lips at the welcome intrusion or the mewling sounds coming from her throat every time he pushes so damn deep inside her.

Its neither pleasure nor pain.

The angle they're in now is almost too much for her over-sensitized body to handle. It wouldn't be if he was gentle, but he's anything but, pushing against her for all he's worth as his hands leave marks on her hips and waist. And oh, the angle allows him to hit just that spot that makes her scream. Neither pain or pleasure, but definitely both.

Sam smiles humorlessly even as tears well up in her eyes. This is what she wanted. If she wasn't so busy moaning and gaspin she might have patted herself on the back. As it is, her hands are clutching at the crumpled sheets.

When she comes she screams to God and muffles her voice in the bed while her hips arch painfully for him. The sensation of it is simultaneous, coming both from the base of her spine and the back of her neck, shooting shocks along her whole body. He keeps moving, losing rhythm completely for the the last few, brutal seconds. Finally he collapses on top of her after, moving off only slightly so they can both breathe.

Its all over now.

They're both exhausted, her more physically and him emotionally. He has _never _lost control like this with someone else before.

When she falls asleep she's curled up in a ball, blanket pulled up halfway at her waist. Her face is dry now and he's wound tight right behind her, a boneless arm around her waist. Every now and then his body trembles ever so slightly.

He thinks he just might hate her for this, even as he cradles her bruised body gently in his.

TBC. Tell me what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

One thing that Samantha Carter is thankful of in this whole situation is that Teal'c is the only one who really notices what its doing to her.

No, that's not true. They all notice something. Not the least of which is Lee, stupidly catching the brunt of her helpless, anxious fury. They notice. They just don't know what's wrong with her, this time.

Oh, they speculate and suspect, nurses whispering to each other quietly about her when she leaves the infirmary even before her check-up is finished by the faceless personnel. Samantha couldn't care less. They don't know shit.

She's angry and tired and frustrated. But mostly, she's hurting. He's been gone for weeks already, and there's nothing she seems to be able to do about it. And it's killing her.

She's cried only one other time, besides when Teal'c found her in the locker room.

She curses herself for being weak; weak and needy and just not fucking smart enough to figure this out yet. She curses Maybourne for this, because if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be such a broken mess just now. They all knew the sneaky bastard had something up his sleeve, they just didn't figure out what soon enough. She curses herself for that too.

But mostly, she's angry at him, and not because he went after Maybourne into that ominously glowing doorway. Samantha's replayed that scenario in her head countless times, and in each one Jack Oneill disappears into the light. She's angry at him because of who he is.

Despite the obvious differences in their career choices, Jack Oneill really isn't all that different from Harry Maybourne. This idea has somehow stolen into her mind and hid there ever since that Tollan incident. Even though they all knew _now_ that Jack never stole technology from their allies and was on their side all along, they had doubted him. Even if it was for just one moment.

Because the part Jack Oneill played, he played a little too well. The words came out a little too naturally. The sentiment a little too sincere.

They aren't the same, not that close. Jack is simpler, more straight forward. He doesn't wear the cloak and dagger well. And he would sacrifice everything for something he believes in. Sometimes that's the problem.

It was a risk to believe in Harry, but Jack did. Despite his (warranted) suspicions, Jack thought there might be something valuable to Earth on that damn planet. So he risked it. And look where it got him.

Samantha knows where it got her. In Teal'c's awkward yet reassuring embrace in a deserted locker room, crying her heart out.

The others, all others, they think she's depressed because Oneill's gone again. Because they think she cares about him. That's just a small part of it.

But she thinks that maybe Teal'c knows more than that.

It's not that he's gone, lost to them at the moment. Its that she can never hold on to him. Nothing she does can ever keep him anchored there, anchored to her. Nothing at all.

All she can do is try, and fail, and then try and cry and bleed to get him back again. And wait nervously for the next time he gets captured and tortured by the Goa'uld or poisoned or stranded or just plain lost somewhere in their infinite universe. And each time, it takes just a little more out of her.

She thinks that Teal'c might have figured this out, because while he holds her with what he hopes is comfort and reassurance, he doesn't address her as Major Carter. Major Carter has nothing to do with this. Major Carter is sad that her commanding officer and friend is missing. Major Carter is doing all she can to get him back.

Samantha is dying slowly on Teal'c's shoulder.

* * *

Feedback makes me write, thanks.

Sorry if it seems a little schizo, but its all related/connected. Glimpses into the relationship of Sam and Jack.


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